Explore? Check. Dream? Always. Discover? You bet.

Once a year, go somewhere you’ve never been before– Dalai Lama

I was recently in the camping store around the corner from my house and as I got lost in the backpacking section–dreaming of far away places–I overheard one of the employees say to another employee “If you really are a backpacker your bag is always packed. She said that it was going to take her a few days to figure out what to bring, but if you ask me, I am ready. I am always packed and ready to go. Tell me when we are leaving and I will grab my bag and be out the door.”

I am in the midst of packing. Everyone packs differently. Some people make long lists, packing weeks in advance, while others pack the day of and throw everything into whatever is near by. Some people bring outfits, while others bring only what they have on and are lucky if they remember a toothbrush. I know both kinds of packers and I have done both. This past weekend, in a desperate attempt to get out of the city, I grabbed a clean t-shirt, my swimsuit and a toothbrush and caught the first train out of town.

With the world whizzing by outside my window, I felt the change of scenery reflect off my face and I couldn’t help but feel a sense of freedom and open space that you can only feel from getting away. A friend recently told me that the best thing you can do is change your view–be it your mindset, or what is outside your window–for me–I needed both. My train took me to open sky, green space and good company.

This week I am packing for a much bigger adventure. I sit surrounded by stacks and piles of what may or may not come with me. I ponder my packing list, adding and tossing as I go and in some ways, I wish I could just throw my hair up, stuff a clean shirt in my pocket and head out the door. I envy the guy in the backpacking section and I almost wish he was here to help me realize I don’t need any of these things at all–just my journal and my head. 

Packing Essentials for an Adventure

Passport (complete with extra pages)

Sunscreen (healthy skin is in)

Earl Grey (kick start to the day and reminds me of home)

Hoodie (an airplane essential–never be afraid to layer)

Scarf (helps perk up an outfit, becomes a makeshift blanket)

Toothbrush (duh!)

Journal (for all the cards, watercolors, sketches, and treasures you collect along the way)

Pocket sized camera (say cheese!)

Comfy walking shoes (because blisters can wreck a perfectly good day)

A good book (to remind you to sit down and relax!)

Postcards (for friends and loved ones) and don’t forget addresses!

Face wipes (to clear the airplane/street grime from your face)

A zip lock baggie filled with NYC (to remind me of what I am missing)

A zip lock baggie filled with Portland (to remind me of home)

This cup is for Eli & Dave–Don’t worry about what to pack, just be sure to make memories that will last a lifetime... and to the (pre)travel butterflies...I feel you. 

Scattered Memories

I am reaching deep for words–for a train of thought–for the perfect thing to say–except I can’t find it. All I can say is that I will always remember. I will remember sitting in the sun, taking in the summer sea breeze, and eating a grilled Panini at Heather’s Café. I will remember when I was little, catching your eye, shyly waving as I made my way through stacks of books, dodging authors and shuffling through the crowd. I will remember dressing up and coming to your art show, taking in the vast detail of tiny cities and intricate features that made your gourds unique and beautiful–one of a kind. I will remember your enthusiasm, your character, your grace. I will think of all the support and guidance that you gave along the way, your encouragement, and most of all your friendship. Sharing stories, sharing food, sharing art will be just a few of the many things that I will miss. And no matter how long I stay in New York City, I will always have your apple to remind me of this chapter, to remind me of the true meaning of beauty and craftsmanship, and to remind me of you.

This cup is for Klaus. 

Happiness

I am currently reading a book called The Geography of Bliss and it has started to make me think a whole lot more about happiness. Most days I go about my world finding little ways to make it happy, be it a fresh pot of coffee, good people, great conversation, old friends, new friends, a yummy dinner, a long run, sleeping in, starting a new painting, finishing a good book–having a productive day. I can recognize the pings of happiness that I feel when a friend picks up on the other end of the phone, when I receive mail in my mailbox, when the cookies turn out just right (not burned on the bottom), when I hear my parents voice on the other end of the line, when I have logged the mileage that ends on a runners high, receiving the acceptance letter, hearing good news–an engagement, a birth, an invite, an adventure.

I felt the ping of happiness when my plane landed in Portland. As the raindrops pelted the window and fogged up my view of the runway, I knew I was home, and I felt the happiness deep in my gut.

When I got home, dumping my junk in the hall, my yellow lab practically knocked me over with happiness, her excitement extending from tongue to tail. Paws barely touching the floor, circling me over and over in a flurry of utter shock and delight she couldn’t believe (or remember) that I was finally home. I felt the happiness encircle us as I grabbed her into a hug, squeezing her tight to my chest, taking in her salty dog breath.

Thinking about it now, Lottie is always happy. It doesn’t matter if it is 5am or 10pm she is happy. It doesn’t matter if it is raining and sleet or sunny and dry, everyday she happily waits eagerly by the door for someone to let her outside. On days when the rest of the house can’t seem to get a break (be it a bad day or the blues) Lottie will happily wag her tail your direction. On days when we can’t stop laughing, Lottie can feel the energy in the room (somehow signaling to her that it would be a good idea to chase her tail or jump up and down). I have never woken up to an unhappy lab, and I have never ended the night with one.

This is the best part about having a dog–they seem to always stay in one state of mind–happiness. For a dog, their memory falls short of a second, so they don’t remember the last time they were (un) happy and so they focus on the present–which to them must mean only one thing–happiness.

While I am happy most any place, I am happiest in Portland. In Portland I feel better than anywhere else–and so today I am sad to leave. But I know that more happiness is just around the corner and when I hit a low point, I will think of Lottie and her tail happily waging to the beat of her happy heart.

This cup is for Emma: Who knows the exact coordinates of my happiest destination, for all the dogs out there–most of all mine and to Portland–obviously. 

Brewing Announcement!

What has been brewing? Drum roll please...hold your breath for the anticipation...put your mug down and get ready to cheer....announcing...My NEW Tumblr Site!

http://cupofcosmos.tumblr.com/

Just one more reason to brew up another cup, sit back, relax and enjoy.

This cup is for: Everyone.

An Intermission

Do you know that feeling when you have been sitting in a coffee shop all day, have ordered everything there is to order on the menu and still don’t want to leave? You slowly pack up your things one at a time, you tell yourself over and over that you have had enough caffeine to last you the entire month, but still, you wish you could just have one more cup.

You know that feeling that lingers at the end of a dinner party? Where everyone is moving all too slow to get their jackets because they wish that everything had lasted just a little bit longer, that the conversations could just keep rolling for hours–wishing that the candles on the table never ran down.

You know the feeling when you run out of pages in a notebook, and begin to squish words along the margins or add post it notes to the pages, and still, you know that one day you are going to need to start a new one, but you love the one you have so much? You think to yourself: a new one will never be the same.

Have you ever wished that you had cut more wood for the campfire, as you watch the logs slowly cinder, and the fire turn to a crackle? You wish the glow would keep glowing, but there is no turning back time as the fire burns down. Suddenly a chill replaces the warmth, signaling it is time to shake out the sandy blankets and find your flip-flops in the dark.

 You know when you finish a book and wish that it wasn’t over, wishing there was just one more chapter or that you hadn’t read it so fast? That is how I feel. This week is the end of what has been a big chapter–and I am not ready.

While everyone was rushing this week to finish pages, pack for adventures, cram and jam get-togethers, I found myself trying to slow things down. I thought if I just slept in a little while longer the mornings would linger. I thought if I just kept the coffee pot running, that breakfast conversations would never end. I thought if I just stayed in my slippers, leggings and fleece, the day would be forced to wait for me. But that never happened. Instead, the rest of the world was whizzing by all around me, friends coming and going, and a constant ebb and flow of hustle and bustle. It didn’t matter that I was moving slow. The rest of the world didn’t’ care. The rest of the world didn’t wait for me. Instead, it just kept moving faster and faster.

There are Hallmark cards that remind us to slow down. There are catchy quotes that remind us what is important, that you should not rush through life. There are advice givers that say that basking in the moment is the best thing you can do. But, after this week, I would have to ask, how? I tried to re-invent the system. I tried to slow down the ticking clock. For a split second, I was crazy enough to think that I could slow down Manhattan. It can’t be done (trust me). And then there is this saying that I absolutely hate that says all good things must come to an end. Who said this? I hate this saying. All good things ending–REALLY? Not true. I don’t believe it. I can’t. I won’t.

Last week our dining room table was filled with vases of fresh lilacs–the dining room smelled amazing. This week, the lilacs were all but wilted, tired, and eventually, tossed. But, I know that more are just around the corner. I know that next Monday, the farmers market will be full of purple, on sale, and ready to enjoy. I know that with all happy endings, there is a start to a new beginning that can be just as good, if not better.

For me, this week is not the end; this week is just the start to a very long intermission. My notebook isn’t filled yet (I just got a new one). My book isn’t finished, I am only on chapter 2 (and I read more than one book at a time in an effort to slow down the endings, to stagger them for peace of mind). My New York life will be put on hold (this is a good thing, a much needed break.) And the only ending in sight is the conclusion to my final paper (the last line) but everything else is just an intermission.

This cup is for: Alex, who met me late in the night for a long talk,

For Logan, who I can count on to pick up the phone at any hour,

And for Kelsey, who understands exactly what chapter I am talking about. 

I Am My Mother's Daughter

I am my mother’s daughter.

How many times have I said this out loud? How many times has someone else told me this? How many times have I felt this deep in my heart? Too many times to count. We look alike, we sound alike. We finish each other’s sentences. We share the same thoughts. If we butt heads, it is usually because we are arguing for the same thing, for the last line, for the last word. There is not enough space in the world to list all the reasons that I love my mom. It would be impossible for anyone to fully understand our relationship without being part of it, without being her or me. I am her mijita. I am her peach. I am her best friend–and she is mine.

If you are lucky enough to have a mom like mine, you talk to her everyday, or multiple times a day. If you are lucky enough to have a mom like mine you get care packages (no matter where you are in the world) that are filled to the brim with goodness. If you are lucky enough to have a mom like mine, you have someone who will happily be interrupted with a question, a cup of tea, or a trip to Nordstrom.

If you have a mom like mine you know it is a special occasion when she wears mascara. She only gets a manicure when you are gone, traveling outside the country or have moved out of state entirely. Don’t expect her to ever like cooking–she never has and she never will. Her house will always have rhododendrons, prayer flags and a Labrador to meet you at the door. Her office will always be a work in progress, be it a watercolor, a card to an old friend, or a manuscript. If you have a mom like mine she is a published author, a gifted poet, a charismatic speaker, a top-notch editor, and a creative writer. If you have a mom like mine, you know that she will always have an idea up her sleeve, she will always have characters chatting somewhere in the back of her head, and she will always have a cold cup of tea hidden somewhere in the house.

At times, she might go crazy. From the cords that clutter behind the TV, to dog hair that gathers in corners around the house, she might scream and yell–but who can blame her? She loves burnt toast, she loves walking on the beach in the rain, and she can read and type faster than anyone that I know.

My mom can fix anything from a broken door to a jammed zipper. She makes the best soup. She hosts the best dinner parties. My mom is the kind of friend everyone wishes they had–she is the one who will pick up the phone and call you out of the blue. My mom is the one who will send a post card to an old friend every Thursday. My mom is the one who has life long friends. My mom works hard. My mom is honest. My mom is funny. My mom is loyal. My mom is the one who you can always count on–my mom is the one who will always be there.

I love her laugh. I love her hands. I love the smell of her Jean Nate perfume when she pulls me into a hug.

My mom is a daughter, a sister, a wife, and a mother. My mom is Suz–and for me–everyday is mother’s day.

Carpe Carp Mom. I love you.

This cup is for all the moms out there–especially mine. 

Don't Rush Spring

I’m in the thick of it, where the to-do lists stack up so high I don’t know where to begin, where so many windows are open on my computer screen I can’t find the curser, where due dates feel so far away, and yet, are just around the corner. Every time I look at the clock it is always 11:25pm.

They don’t call it “spring forward” for nothing.

To be honest, I always have a difficult time transitioning from winter to (spring and) summer–to warm and warmer. I hate when it comes time to bag up my sweaters and push them deep into the back of my closet. I hate saying goodbye to my boots, putting them up on the high shelves that I can’t reach without a step stool. I hate boxing up my scarves and storing my down comforter. I hate having to think about summer shoes, stress about what SPF to put on my face, worry about mosquito bites, and fuss with having to shave my legs on a regular basis–don’t even get me started on having to (potentially) wear a bathing suit. Most people get grumpy and grouchy when they have to bundle up and layer, I get crabby and cranky when I am forced to give that up.

The responsible thing to do would be to bury myself in the thick of it. A typical student would brew espresso until their hands shook, cram and jam long into the night, walk around like a zombie by day and press the panic button. What do I do? I transform my windowsill into a desk, I move my chair so that I can watch the spring rain hit my window, I slip into my cozy socks, I sit with a cup of tea, and I flip through magazines that are months old, re-read short stories by Nora Ephron, catch up with old friends on the phone, and pull out my sketch books and drawing pens. 

Rushing does nothing. Worrying is a waste of time. Cramming is overrated. Busy is just an adjective. I am perfectly aware that I have fifty pages of writing that stand between me and summer, but I am certain, that without panic, it will all get done. 

This cup is for the rusher: slow down–sip slowly–enjoy.